we drove up the 5 freeway.
my nephew, baby jack
was baptized yesterday.
he gave blank stares. smiles.
big, big brown eyes.
as i congratulated him.
he sucked on his finger.

he’s only 1. i asked him
“do you know what
just happened?”
he continued to suck
on his finger. this time
catching a runny booger.
dressed in white satin.

the priest isn’t familiar
with anyone. and i wonder.
who started this tradition.
a crowd of ‘c-and-e’ goers.
now add ‘b’ to their calendars.
their blank stares. smiles.
their finger stuck to their cameras.

it was windy and cold. we made
our way to the after-soiree.
i shared a beer with the
God parents. bottle of pacifico.
six flags was near. we were
much more north of everything.
i sucked on my finger.

after the ceremony
we enjoyed carrots
broccoli. tomatoes. and ranch.
on fold-out tables. with
a blow-up jumpy-thing in the back.
as i rapped with neighbors. and
got a taste of their flavor.

i was the outcast. so i wash it down
with kirkland bottled water.
then headed back down
the 5 freeway. my family sleeps.
at 1 am we were interrupted.
to my youngest screaming.
throw-up chunky-things in his bed.

spots of carrots. broccoli. and tomatoes.
in a paste. the sour smell i still can’t get rid of.
still embedded in my nose.
no fever. no symptoms. no one knows.
but he didnt go to school. i called in sick.
got my blank pad. my pen. i stared.
smiled. and i started to write this.

complaining. to rearrange one’s thoughts. life sucks and i hate it.
because im not just a man, i’m human. i didn’t create it.
the only answer seen. asking my maker. to dwell inside me.
not worthy of controlling. anything. not one. thing. i’ve failed miserably.

i had the night off.
so i called greg to come celebrate
my acceptance into the m.f.a. program.
we planned to grab a
smoke at Red Cloud then
hit Stubrik’s for a guiness stout.
he flaked. to play
poker in orange.

i kept moving forward.
caring less about the present.
not looking back.

so i took my night to the a.t.m.
pulled out a grand from my savings.
ten benjamins stuffed into my jeans.
i hate money. but this made
me feel good.
like i could
do things
i normally wouldn’t.

taking my confidence for a walk in my city.
thinking it would be cool to boost the commerce.
receiving a thrill from spending a bill
at the local gift shop.
but when the night came to an end
i still felt empty within.

later. much later. i had nightmares.
of hotels. NFL franchises. and war in Serbia.
hiding in disguises. running for freedom.
the details would make anyone sick.
i tossed and turned awaking at six.

i slipped on the cashmere sweater
with the moth hole in the back. and
my isotoner slippers that grandpa had bought.
headed to downtown
with nine bills in my pocket.

there was no sunshine.

i saw a woman. but couldn’t
make out if she was physically homeless.
i could just tell that her soul was alone and empty.

i took a picture of her. with
my camera phone.
she returned a blank stare.
her hair was duotone.
died red. but growing out at the roots.
born in the late fifties
but very very cute.
except
the tattooed teardrop
next to her left eye.
i could see her life was much more different
than mine.

i proceeded to hand her nine
one-hundred dollar bills.
they could have been one’s
and she still
would have been grateful.

she spoke. i listened.
she was the world’s biggest
loser magnet. except
today when it was a savior
she attracted.

this morning i saw the glow
of eternity. i took another
picture. but it came out blurry.

the internal happiness rushed.
on this day marked december sixth.
a feeling no camera could capture.
not even words. the meaning
of kindness
with acts
that are
not only
random.